Who Am I? Or (perhaps More Accurately)

When You're Writing For Newspapers You Have All These Parameters. You Can't Swear, You Have To Use Short Paragraphs, All That. If You Stay Within Those Parameters, You Have Lots Of Freedom Because You're Writing For The Next Day.

But Whenever I Meet Dynamic, Nonretarded Americans, I Notice That They All Seem To Share A Single Unifying Characteristic: The Inability To Experience The Kind Of Mind-blowing, Transcendent Romantic Relationship They Perceive To Be A Normal Part Of Living. And Someone Needs To Take The Fall For This. So Instead Of Blaming No One For This (which Is Kind Of Cowardly) Or Blaming Everyone (which Is Kind Of Meaningless), I'm Going To Blame John Cusack.

This Made Her Remember Why People Take Up Walking: It Is Because They No Longer Have Anywhere To Go.

We’re All Tourists, Sort Of. Life Is Tourism, Sort Of. As Far As I’m Concerned, The Dinosaurs Still Hold The Lease On This Godforsaken Rock.

What's Hard To Do Is Describe Why You Like Something. Because Ultimately, The Reason Things Move People Is Very Amorphous. You Can Be Cerebral About Things You Hate, But Most Of The Things You Like Tend To Be Very Emotive. It's Really Hard To Do A Literary Reproduction Of What Makes You Happy. That's What I Try To Do. If Nothing Else, It Seems Like There's Enough People Out There Telling The World What Isn't Cool, Or What's Terrible, Or What's Depressing. I Think There's An Element Of Cynicism In My Writing, But I'm An Optimistic Cynic.